Currywurst. Consumes my very being
Currywurst. Goes through me like baked beans.
I am shitting blood but I still want more.
I call your name as I curl up on the shit and bloodstained floor.
This was a poem I wrote in Berlin a few months back, the subtext is simple, the German fastfood snack of choice is personified, taking me forcefully, I shouldn't like it but I do. She's a woman wearing a strapon obviously, I'm not a sicko.
The Juxtaposition between blood and shit obviously draws a paralel with the the binary oppositions expressed between life and death being side by side. The 'going through me like baked beans, represents the physical effect that eating a currywurst makes a person go through, not just the heaped metaphors, working on several levels,
Anyway, the crux of this is that I saw a few people based in Germany have been reading regularly, or at the very least have been hotlinking pictures from the blog so I have taken the time to translate it in to German for them...
Currywurst. Verbraucht mein sehr sein Currywurst. Läuft mich wie gebackene Bohnen durch. Ich bin Scheißenblut, aber ich wünsche noch mehr. Ich benenne Ihren Namen, während ich mich oben auf der Scheiße und dem blutbefleckt Fußboden kräusele. (It's not as difficult as you might think, just use the babel fish application on Alta Vista.)
(Special Thanks to Mr Boulter for reminding me that I am a poet.)
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